


Birthday Pancakes

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Birthday, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, when you said surprise, I have to admit that IHOP was not the first thing I thought of."</p><p>“February 5th. Your birthday, and also National Pancake Day.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Pancakes

It’s seconds past midnight, and Darren’s phone is already nearly vibrating off his bedside table with all the texts he’s receiving, when it starts to buzz rather insistently. It takes him a few seconds to realize it’s ringing, and when he grabs for it, he grins at the picture he sees there.

“Well good evening,” he hums pleasantly down the line.

Normally, he expects some sort of witty remark in return, but instead he gets a rather giddy sounding, “happy birthday, Darren!”

And he can’t help but chuckle at that.

“Christopher, have you been drinking?” Darren leans back against his headboard.

“What? I’m not allowed to be excited about your birthday?”

“I mean, that’s your prerogative, man, but you don’t even get this excited for your own birthday.”

“Maybe I have plans,” Chris taunts down the line, and Darren grins.

“Oh? What kind of plans?” Darren sinks down into his pillows. “Sexy plans?”

“This isn’t turning into phone sex,” Chris’s voice says nearly immediately, and Darren frowns, stopping his hand on its path slowly downward so that it rests on his stomach.

“But it’s my  _birthday_ ,” Darren whines, and he hears Chris laugh—once, sharp and bright.

“You’re an idiot. Now come outside?”

Darren pulls back the phone, blinks at it, and then presses it against his ear again.

“What?”

“Come. Outside. Like, the front of your building. Where the steps are. And those hedges that made you move here in the first place.”

Darren really shouldn’t have told Chris that, but he did, and there’s really no point denying it now.

“I’m not dressed,” Darren counters, dropping his voice until it sounds a little sultry.

“Darren, we can have sex later, now  _come on_.”

“Promise?”

“Oh for the love of—get your ass out here!”

*

It turns out Chris wants to take them somewhere, in the car he usually has parked in his garage and kept for those times when he just needs to  _go_. They’ve taken it a few times, and Darren is pretty sure it used to belong to one of Chris’s family members. Only that, after Chris had taken it off their hands, he’d had the windows  _extremely_ tinted.

“Where are we going?” Darren whispers, because it’s late—not that midnight is late in LA, but it’s a weekday and Darren lives far enough out of the city that the constant blur of activity isn’t quite so apparent. There are cars on the road, but not nearly as many, and Darren doesn’t have to worry about the fact that he’s not disguised in any way (or the fact that he’s in pajama pants and a hoodie, but he never really cares about that sort of shit anyway). “Are you taking me somewhere to have car sex?”

“What?” Chris turns to look at him briefly, incredulously, and then shakes his head. “You turn 26, and suddenly your libido spikes.”

“My clock is ticking, Colfer. I’m in my prime.” Darren grins at him cheekily. “And it’s my birthday, and you said we’d have sex later.”

“I said that, like,  _fifteen minutes_  ago.”

“And now it’s fifteen minutes  _later_.”

“You keep this up, and there’s not going to be any birthday sex at all.” Chris shoots him a look.

“You wouldn’t,” Darren gasps, eyes wide. “My  _birthday_ , Chris, and you’d take the  _sex_ away?”

Chris’s head thumps back against the car seat in exasperation.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Darren grins, lacing his fingers and slipping them behind his head.

“Duh.”

*

They drive a lot longer than Darren is expecting, and into the Valley of all places. Darren knows that there’s at least one of everything closer to his apartment, or, if not exactly, something similar. But Chris is careful, and Darren is grateful for it. Chris remembers the things that Darren always forgets are important.

Darren sees their destination even before they pull off Reseda and into a rinky-dink, poorly lit parking lot.

“You know, when you said surprise, I have to admit that IHOP was not the first thing I thought of,” Darren comments, as Chris parks and shuts off the car.

“February 5th,” Chris says, looking at Darren. “Your birthday, and also National Pancake Day.”

Darren doesn’t even think about it before he grabs Chris’s face firmly between his hands and kisses him—he just does it, feeling the way Chris’s hands flutter about before they settle on his shoulders.

“I fucking love you,” Darren murmurs when they break apart, and Chris touches their noses together for a second before pulling back.

“And all it took was some free pancakes. Come on. You have to be on set in the morning.”

*

The woman who seats them is older in age, and she looks at them with narrowed eyes—like maybe she might recognize them,  _maybe_ —but gives up on it with a shrug. There’s a few people there, but not enough to be a concern. No teenage girls, at least, or anyone who lifts their eyes with any recognition. It’s a blessing, even if it stings at the same time—Darren isn’t in it for the fame, for the recognition, but because he  _loves_ it. So it  _is_  a blessing that he still has these small freedoms that he can get away with.

Their waitress is older, too, and after ordering two diet cokes (and Chris gives him a _look_ , even though Darren always does it, so why is it still so surprising?), they’re left in their booth, sitting across from each other.

“I hate booths,” Darren says, staring down at his menu. Because it’s past midnight and he’s sort of starving, and pancakes might not just be enough for him.

“Who the fuck hates booths?” Chris asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’d rather sit in an uncomfortable chair?”

“Okay, well, no, booths are awesome, but like… When you’re with another person—” Darren stops, looks around, and then leans across the table, lowering his voice, “—when you’re with another person you  _like_  to be close to, like touching and nudging and holding hands with and shit, it just sort of makes things awkward.” Darren shrugs. “Like, how fucking weird would it be if we just both sat on the same side? Facing no one? I’d have to make people up to not feel so fucking awkward about it.”

“Mmm, because making up an imaginary couple to double date with is obviously the logical solution,” Chris teases, but it falls short, and his smile turns smaller. “That’s why U booths are awesome.”

“Fuck yeah they are.”

Chris only gets pancakes, but Darren really wants some eggs, and some fruit on the side (for his pancakes), and some hash browns. He’s 26, he’s  _growing_ , he’s fucking hungry. His eyes shoot over to Chris as he orders, but Chris is just watching him in this affectionately fond way. He does that sometimes. Darren doesn’t really get it, but he still doesn’t really understand how a guy like Chris even goes for a guy like  _him_.

He doesn’t look shit like that in the mouth.

“So your plan was pancakes?” Darren asks, watching as Chris plays with the straw in his soda.

“A part of the plan.” Chris lights up his phone and glances at it. “It’s only just before 1am, after all. We’ve got twenty three more hours to fill up with birthday fun.”

Darren’s eyebrows raise, both intrigued and excited.

“Is birthday fun code for birthday sex?”

“Oh my  _god_.”

“I’m sorry!” Darren holds up his hands. “You know how I get at this time of night.” He pouts at Chris, because he really can’t help it. Chris is sitting there and looking slightly bed-rumpled and awesome and hot, and it sort of  _does it_  for Darren, and he’s on this weird sort of kick because it’s his  _fucking birthday_.

And, alright, yeah, maybe he wants Chris to promise to have sex with him all day.

Fuck work. Who needs to work? Not him.

“I know, I’m just surprised you haven’t started humping the furniture or something.”

“Please.” Darren rolls his eyes. “If something was going to get humped, it would be you.”

Chris sucks in a breath so fast he nearly starts choking on the sip of soda he just took, and he lifts aghast, watery eyes to Darren.

“You are fucking unbelievable,” Chris admonishes.

“Wouldn’t be the first time you said it,” Darren replies smugly with a wink and a grin, and Chris leans across the table to smack at his arm.

“You know, I would have just gotten you sex as a present if I’d known this is how you were gonna act.”

“Sex  _isn’t_  my present?” Darren doesn’t know whether to be disappointed, or excited because  _present_.

“What kind of—” Chris stutters to a stop, but the word fills in in Darren’s head. “…if… If I didn’t get you a birthday present, Darren, come on.” He picks up speed again easily, and it’s kind of shitty. Darren was literally just talking about  _humping Chris in an IHOP_ , but his lips lock up around the word  _boyfriend_. Because that’s not something that can be mistaken, or really even misheard. It’s a secret word, a word for just them, and god Darren wishes he didn’t want pancakes so bad so they could leave and say it.

…fucking pancakes.

“A pretty fucking fantastic one,” Darren says earnestly, and it’s enough to bring back Chris’s smile—the genuine one, the one Darren likes to see best, the one that only  _he_ can put there. It makes him feel pretty awesome, actually. Like maybe that would be a birthday gift in and of itself.

Their food comes then, and Darren’s stomach nearly takes full control of his brain. Whoever invented pancakes really deserves like a fist-bump, or a song—wait, no, the last time Darren had tried to write a song about pancakes, shit had not gone well.

“So pancakes, and then home.”

And  _home_  means Chris’s house, not Darren’s apartment, and he wants to wiggle with the thought of it. Chris has an amazing mattress, but even if Chris would tell Darren where he got it (and he won’t), it would probably be less fantastic without Chris in it with him anyway.

“And then present tomorrow.”

Darren drags a forkful of pancake through syrup, and then grins because he can’t help it—and he can’t stop himself.

“And sex.”

Chris kicks him under the table, and Darren laughs around a mouthful of fluffy, buttery, syrupy goodness.


End file.
